How Could There Be No Reprecussions 3/?
Jeff's mother had lived in Cedarburg, about an hour away, but Annie waved him off and assured him that she was completely free (she wasn't. She had notes to type up for astronomy class, a diorama to map out, and 4 chapters to read in her anthropology class) and cleared her Saturday for him.
He picks her up in his Lexus and she slides into the front seat feeling a little uncomfortable and underdressed in her simple black shirt and skirt. She doesn't really know what to wear to a funeral. She's never actually been to one (thank god) but she isn't going to tell Jeff that, who would probably just be reminded of how young she is. So she smiles nervously at him and clicks her seatbelt on, but he turns off the car and takes his off, leaning over and catching her mouth with his in a soft, surprisingly sweet kiss. Then another. Another. Another. When he finally pulls back, he presses his palm to the side of her head, against her hair. His wrist is really delicate, she realizes absently, so strange in comparison to his long, large forearm, his huge hands and she debates kissing him there, right where his veins pulse near the skin, but before she can get up enough nerve, he's pulled away and started the car back up.
They don't talk much on the way there. She doesn't know what to say. It's such an awkward way to spend their first day together. Flirting seems like a no-no. So does talking about feelings (this is Jeff, after all) and she doesn't want to just talk about trivialities on the way to his mom's funeral. In any case, he seems fine with the silence, occasionally reaching over and touching her hair (she's starting to see it's a thing for him - she racks her mind for what scent her shampoo was this morning. Coconut? Peaches? Hopefully not something boring). They only really talk once when she has to ask him to pull over so she can go to the bathroom. He watches her carefully as she walks into the gas station, eyes protective and a bit amused. When she gets back into the car and smoothes her skirt fussily down her legs, he smiles for the first time.
His mom's funeral is very uneventful. Jeff speaks to no one - merely walks up to the front pew of the Pentecostal church and sits down silently. Only about 20 older couples mill around, staring occasionally at them until the service starts. Jeff doesn't speak. No one seems to expect him to. A few women say some nice things about his mother. About her cooking. About her wicked sense of humor. But Jeff stares stonily ahead and every time Annie glances at him to see his reaction, she wonders if he's even listening. Probably not. He doesn't need other people to tell him about his mother.
After the service, a few people come up and hug him, shake his hand, offer those strangely sincere condolences that can only come from outsiders, from those not too affected by the tragedy themselves.
One woman hugs Annie, taking her by surprise. "It's so nice to see you here," she says even though she's never met Annie before, "I'm sure your mother-in-law, wherever she may be, is so happy her son has someone to take care of him during this time."
Annie blushes, thinks about correcting the woman, but Jeff doesn't even seem to notice the mistake and so she just nods and whispers her thanks and then stares at the side of Jeff's face for a reaction after the woman scoots off towards the side door. He only takes her hand and starts to pull her in the direction of the exit, nodding to the few people who stop him on the way.
They're traipsing their way over the church grass, a little wet and springy beneath their feet, when Annie asks, "Where's the wake? Or the ...." she struggles for the right word, but can't find it "thing at? Reception?"
"At Mrs. Johns' house - the one who thought you were my wife," he answers.
She blushes again and hurries her step a bit to catch up to him. The height difference between them and the way her heels keep sinking into the dirt are leaving her far behind him. He finally seems to notice and stops, waiting for her to reach his side.
But they don't go to the reception. When they drive into a old Denny's parking lot, she frowns and asks him what he's doing.
"I want some pancakes."
"Jeff....we need to go to the thingy."
"I don't want to go to the thingy," he responds, his voice laced with a tired amusement, "I want pancakes."
She starts to protest (this isn't how things are done!), but he gets out of the car and leaves her to follow or not. So she follows.
There's absolutely nobody inside and the hostess gives them both a weird once-over before leading to their table. She wonders if the girl actually thinks this is a date. That she has a boyfriend that got all dressed up in a suit to take her to Denny's, of all places. She hopes not. How embarrassing.
She slides into the booth across from him and watches as he orders his coffee and meal without looking at the menu (a 'meatlover's' sound disgustingly bad for you, but she bites her tongue) and she orders herself a coffee and a bowl of chicken noodle soup (extra crackers).
He doesn't speak until their coffee is in front of them, creamed and sugared.
"Thanks for coming."
"You already said that."
"I know but..." he trails off, fiddling with one of his empty splenda packets, looking uncomfortable. She's never seen him this quiet before. Usually nothing can keep his mouth shut.
She sips at her coffee, politely ignoring his inelegance. "So," she asks, "did you know any of those people there, Jeff?"
He shrugs. "Not really. My mom moved to Cedarburg just recently. Plus, she wasn't much of a social person. I mean," he grimaces a bit, "she wasn't anti-social, just solitary. Not like me..." Another grimace. "She liked people." He sighs and clamps his mouth shut and it's the first time that he's looked so openly depressed, so she slides out of her side of the booth and scoots in next to him. She has to lean up, her butt not even on the seat anymore, just to kiss him, but he catches on quickly and hunches over enough so that she can settle against his side and kiss him lazily. The waitress comes while they're kissing, looking at them like they're crazy, but when Annie gets up and settles back in her seat, something about the tired lines around Jeff's eyes and mouth seem to tell the whole story (that and their somber, all black clothes) and the girl's look softens a bit, becomes more knowing. She slides the bowl over to Annie and then goes about the task of giving Jeff his meal, which has about 4 plates.
Once she's gone, Annie stares over critically at his pile of food. "How do you eat all of that?"
He shoves some bacon in his mouth. "I'm 6'4 - I can eat a lot."
She takes a bit of a cracker. "I kinda hate you right now."
"No, you don't," he winks at her.
She's done with her soup way before he's even halfway through his meal, so he pushes over a plate towards her. "Have a pancake."
"No, thank you."
"Come on," he whines, "have a pancake. They're good for you."
"Is that so?"
He places a hand to his heart. "Good for your soul."
She laughs and stabs at the floppy thing with her fork, struggling to capture it. "A Spongebob reference? I think you're giving yourself away, Jeff."
He narrows his eyes at her. "You'd only know it was a Spongebob reference if you watched it too."
She shrugs, takes a bite of the pancake speared on her fork. "I did. I do. I love Spongebob." She swallows her bite, dabs a napkin on her mouth. "Hold on. Watch." She glances around the restaurant, making sure no one is around, and then lets out a loud, spot-on Spongebob laugh.
Jeff chokes on his food. She gasps and reaches over to pat his shoulder, apologizing.
"Geesh, Annie," he sputters after gulping down half a glass of water, "you gotta warn me before you do crap like that."
"Sorry!"
He laughs and it's so sincere and happy that it's infectious. "Somehow you just got hotter," he tells her, face red with laughing.
"Somehow?"
"Well, I didn't think it was possible."
It's the best compliment she's ever gotten. She blushes.
The laughter seems to take a lot out of him. He pushes the rest of his food away and leans against the window, eyes hooded and sleepy. After awhile, he beckons her over to his side and she goes willingly, sliding up under his arm and letting him ghost his fingers through her hair. He keeps touching her and touching her and while a part of her says its only because he's clinging to something after the loss of his mom, another part knows it's just because he's finally allowing himself to do what he wants without worrying about it so much. Maybe the two go together. Either way, it's nice being here this close to him.
He pushes a piece of hair behind her ear. It falls back into her face immediately. He laughs.
"Annie," he kisses her shoulder, "if we're gonna do this ..." he trails off, as if fighting for the right words, "can we keep it between us for awhile? It's not that I'm ashamed of you, I just... if the group knows," he sighs, "they'll think the worst of me."
She wants to say Jeff! They'd never think the worst of you - they love you! But while she knows that last part is true, the first is too. Because she may be young, but she's wise enough to know that it's often the people you love the most that you think the worst of.
"That's gonna be a lot of trouble, but okay." She relents, even though there's a tight feeling in her chest that twists up a bit. "So no adoring looks?" she asks playfully.
"No, no, keep that up - or else they might get suspicious."
She elbows him roughly in the side - more like his hip - and he doubles over laughing and gasping. He rubs the spot.
After a minute, she eyes him closely, voice sobering. "So, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he says lightly. A little too lightly.
She rolls her eyes and huffs a bit at him. "Why don't you ever say how you really feel?"
He watches her, carefully, as if debating something with himself. Then, he merely says, "Maybe I'll tell you. Sometime."
She decides not to push it, but when he leans over again and brushes his mouth right under her ear and he smells like coffee and some subtle, expensive cologne, and feels warm and solid like a man should, she blurts out:
"I'm in love with you."
She expects him to rear back. Recoil. She knows she's jumping ahead in the story, skipping over chapters and plot points and developments, but she's already there. And maybe it's because she's young and stupid and inexperienced but the truth's the truth and she might as well let him know. He deserves to know. It needs to be out there because she wants everything and won't be satisfied with less. Because even though she may be little Annie Adderall and a closet fattie and her teeth are just waiting to spring back to their pre-braces snaggle, and maybe she's never been popular or normal and maybe she can never face her former schoolmates without hearing snickering behind her back, she's allowing herself the worth and dignity to expect the best. To deserve the best. She doesn't want to just be the girl he gets to kiss when he feels like it, or goes to his house to hang out and eat pizza and watch Law and Order. She wants everything. So if they have to nip this in the bud, so be it, but at least it should happen now rather than later. It's better than waiting until any needed severance between them only results in massive blood loss and missing limbs - waiting until they're so entwined that it's hard to tell who's who and what's what.
But he doesn't recoil. Doesn't rear back. He just gazes at her for a moment, hand still in her hair. And then he smirks. "Really? That fast? Wow, I am good." Then he leans over and kisses her - not so softly and not so sweetly; a bit roughly, more than a little possessive - and even though he doesn't say it back, even though piano music doesn't start magically playing, even though candles don't suddenly float onto their table and light themselves, though no heavy, sexy velvet drapes drop down to cover over the dirty mini-blinds slanted open towards the trash-strewn parking lot, when he pulls away, he's staring at her with the goofy, shmoopy face reserved just for her. And that's enough.
He picks up the check and nudges her hip with his hand. "Come on, let's go home."
He picks her up in his Lexus and she slides into the front seat feeling a little uncomfortable and underdressed in her simple black shirt and skirt. She doesn't really know what to wear to a funeral. She's never actually been to one (thank god) but she isn't going to tell Jeff that, who would probably just be reminded of how young she is. So she smiles nervously at him and clicks her seatbelt on, but he turns off the car and takes his off, leaning over and catching her mouth with his in a soft, surprisingly sweet kiss. Then another. Another. Another. When he finally pulls back, he presses his palm to the side of her head, against her hair. His wrist is really delicate, she realizes absently, so strange in comparison to his long, large forearm, his huge hands and she debates kissing him there, right where his veins pulse near the skin, but before she can get up enough nerve, he's pulled away and started the car back up.
They don't talk much on the way there. She doesn't know what to say. It's such an awkward way to spend their first day together. Flirting seems like a no-no. So does talking about feelings (this is Jeff, after all) and she doesn't want to just talk about trivialities on the way to his mom's funeral. In any case, he seems fine with the silence, occasionally reaching over and touching her hair (she's starting to see it's a thing for him - she racks her mind for what scent her shampoo was this morning. Coconut? Peaches? Hopefully not something boring). They only really talk once when she has to ask him to pull over so she can go to the bathroom. He watches her carefully as she walks into the gas station, eyes protective and a bit amused. When she gets back into the car and smoothes her skirt fussily down her legs, he smiles for the first time.
His mom's funeral is very uneventful. Jeff speaks to no one - merely walks up to the front pew of the Pentecostal church and sits down silently. Only about 20 older couples mill around, staring occasionally at them until the service starts. Jeff doesn't speak. No one seems to expect him to. A few women say some nice things about his mother. About her cooking. About her wicked sense of humor. But Jeff stares stonily ahead and every time Annie glances at him to see his reaction, she wonders if he's even listening. Probably not. He doesn't need other people to tell him about his mother.
After the service, a few people come up and hug him, shake his hand, offer those strangely sincere condolences that can only come from outsiders, from those not too affected by the tragedy themselves.
One woman hugs Annie, taking her by surprise. "It's so nice to see you here," she says even though she's never met Annie before, "I'm sure your mother-in-law, wherever she may be, is so happy her son has someone to take care of him during this time."
Annie blushes, thinks about correcting the woman, but Jeff doesn't even seem to notice the mistake and so she just nods and whispers her thanks and then stares at the side of Jeff's face for a reaction after the woman scoots off towards the side door. He only takes her hand and starts to pull her in the direction of the exit, nodding to the few people who stop him on the way.
They're traipsing their way over the church grass, a little wet and springy beneath their feet, when Annie asks, "Where's the wake? Or the ...." she struggles for the right word, but can't find it "thing at? Reception?"
"At Mrs. Johns' house - the one who thought you were my wife," he answers.
She blushes again and hurries her step a bit to catch up to him. The height difference between them and the way her heels keep sinking into the dirt are leaving her far behind him. He finally seems to notice and stops, waiting for her to reach his side.
But they don't go to the reception. When they drive into a old Denny's parking lot, she frowns and asks him what he's doing.
"I want some pancakes."
"Jeff....we need to go to the thingy."
"I don't want to go to the thingy," he responds, his voice laced with a tired amusement, "I want pancakes."
She starts to protest (this isn't how things are done!), but he gets out of the car and leaves her to follow or not. So she follows.
There's absolutely nobody inside and the hostess gives them both a weird once-over before leading to their table. She wonders if the girl actually thinks this is a date. That she has a boyfriend that got all dressed up in a suit to take her to Denny's, of all places. She hopes not. How embarrassing.
She slides into the booth across from him and watches as he orders his coffee and meal without looking at the menu (a 'meatlover's' sound disgustingly bad for you, but she bites her tongue) and she orders herself a coffee and a bowl of chicken noodle soup (extra crackers).
He doesn't speak until their coffee is in front of them, creamed and sugared.
"Thanks for coming."
"You already said that."
"I know but..." he trails off, fiddling with one of his empty splenda packets, looking uncomfortable. She's never seen him this quiet before. Usually nothing can keep his mouth shut.
She sips at her coffee, politely ignoring his inelegance. "So," she asks, "did you know any of those people there, Jeff?"
He shrugs. "Not really. My mom moved to Cedarburg just recently. Plus, she wasn't much of a social person. I mean," he grimaces a bit, "she wasn't anti-social, just solitary. Not like me..." Another grimace. "She liked people." He sighs and clamps his mouth shut and it's the first time that he's looked so openly depressed, so she slides out of her side of the booth and scoots in next to him. She has to lean up, her butt not even on the seat anymore, just to kiss him, but he catches on quickly and hunches over enough so that she can settle against his side and kiss him lazily. The waitress comes while they're kissing, looking at them like they're crazy, but when Annie gets up and settles back in her seat, something about the tired lines around Jeff's eyes and mouth seem to tell the whole story (that and their somber, all black clothes) and the girl's look softens a bit, becomes more knowing. She slides the bowl over to Annie and then goes about the task of giving Jeff his meal, which has about 4 plates.
Once she's gone, Annie stares over critically at his pile of food. "How do you eat all of that?"
He shoves some bacon in his mouth. "I'm 6'4 - I can eat a lot."
She takes a bit of a cracker. "I kinda hate you right now."
"No, you don't," he winks at her.
She's done with her soup way before he's even halfway through his meal, so he pushes over a plate towards her. "Have a pancake."
"No, thank you."
"Come on," he whines, "have a pancake. They're good for you."
"Is that so?"
He places a hand to his heart. "Good for your soul."
She laughs and stabs at the floppy thing with her fork, struggling to capture it. "A Spongebob reference? I think you're giving yourself away, Jeff."
He narrows his eyes at her. "You'd only know it was a Spongebob reference if you watched it too."
She shrugs, takes a bite of the pancake speared on her fork. "I did. I do. I love Spongebob." She swallows her bite, dabs a napkin on her mouth. "Hold on. Watch." She glances around the restaurant, making sure no one is around, and then lets out a loud, spot-on Spongebob laugh.
Jeff chokes on his food. She gasps and reaches over to pat his shoulder, apologizing.
"Geesh, Annie," he sputters after gulping down half a glass of water, "you gotta warn me before you do crap like that."
"Sorry!"
He laughs and it's so sincere and happy that it's infectious. "Somehow you just got hotter," he tells her, face red with laughing.
"Somehow?"
"Well, I didn't think it was possible."
It's the best compliment she's ever gotten. She blushes.
The laughter seems to take a lot out of him. He pushes the rest of his food away and leans against the window, eyes hooded and sleepy. After awhile, he beckons her over to his side and she goes willingly, sliding up under his arm and letting him ghost his fingers through her hair. He keeps touching her and touching her and while a part of her says its only because he's clinging to something after the loss of his mom, another part knows it's just because he's finally allowing himself to do what he wants without worrying about it so much. Maybe the two go together. Either way, it's nice being here this close to him.
He pushes a piece of hair behind her ear. It falls back into her face immediately. He laughs.
"Annie," he kisses her shoulder, "if we're gonna do this ..." he trails off, as if fighting for the right words, "can we keep it between us for awhile? It's not that I'm ashamed of you, I just... if the group knows," he sighs, "they'll think the worst of me."
She wants to say Jeff! They'd never think the worst of you - they love you! But while she knows that last part is true, the first is too. Because she may be young, but she's wise enough to know that it's often the people you love the most that you think the worst of.
"That's gonna be a lot of trouble, but okay." She relents, even though there's a tight feeling in her chest that twists up a bit. "So no adoring looks?" she asks playfully.
"No, no, keep that up - or else they might get suspicious."
She elbows him roughly in the side - more like his hip - and he doubles over laughing and gasping. He rubs the spot.
After a minute, she eyes him closely, voice sobering. "So, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he says lightly. A little too lightly.
She rolls her eyes and huffs a bit at him. "Why don't you ever say how you really feel?"
He watches her, carefully, as if debating something with himself. Then, he merely says, "Maybe I'll tell you. Sometime."
She decides not to push it, but when he leans over again and brushes his mouth right under her ear and he smells like coffee and some subtle, expensive cologne, and feels warm and solid like a man should, she blurts out:
"I'm in love with you."
She expects him to rear back. Recoil. She knows she's jumping ahead in the story, skipping over chapters and plot points and developments, but she's already there. And maybe it's because she's young and stupid and inexperienced but the truth's the truth and she might as well let him know. He deserves to know. It needs to be out there because she wants everything and won't be satisfied with less. Because even though she may be little Annie Adderall and a closet fattie and her teeth are just waiting to spring back to their pre-braces snaggle, and maybe she's never been popular or normal and maybe she can never face her former schoolmates without hearing snickering behind her back, she's allowing herself the worth and dignity to expect the best. To deserve the best. She doesn't want to just be the girl he gets to kiss when he feels like it, or goes to his house to hang out and eat pizza and watch Law and Order. She wants everything. So if they have to nip this in the bud, so be it, but at least it should happen now rather than later. It's better than waiting until any needed severance between them only results in massive blood loss and missing limbs - waiting until they're so entwined that it's hard to tell who's who and what's what.
But he doesn't recoil. Doesn't rear back. He just gazes at her for a moment, hand still in her hair. And then he smirks. "Really? That fast? Wow, I am good." Then he leans over and kisses her - not so softly and not so sweetly; a bit roughly, more than a little possessive - and even though he doesn't say it back, even though piano music doesn't start magically playing, even though candles don't suddenly float onto their table and light themselves, though no heavy, sexy velvet drapes drop down to cover over the dirty mini-blinds slanted open towards the trash-strewn parking lot, when he pulls away, he's staring at her with the goofy, shmoopy face reserved just for her. And that's enough.
He picks up the check and nudges her hip with his hand. "Come on, let's go home."